Beyond The Planes
by Valentine Angel
Summary: Planescape Torment fanfic, continuing where the game left us. What will be the fate of those no longer linked by torment? Is the Nameless One condemned, or can he be saved? Multichaptered across the multiverse...


Battles to the right and left, the fetid air full of screaming of never-ending deaths of the sinners; unwilling participants in an endless war of law and chaos.

It invoked strong and unpleasant memories for the man staring at the carnage beyond his feet.

It had always been his destiny. He'd sought to evade it, and unwittingly had suffered more than the hell now laid ahead.

With grim resolution, he grabbed an axe from the crude armoury, and began the fight for his unlife.

"Tha's it?"

Far away from the dust and heat, Annah gazed mournfully at the spot where the man had claimed his mortality mere moments ago. The tiefling's tail lashed against the cold flagstones of the Fortress. "We... wen' all this way fer him ter jus' _die_ on us!"

"He had suffered so much." Grace pronounced solemnly, wings tucked behind her in a sombre manner, deferential. "This was what he wanted, it seems, rather than being condemned to an empty life."

"Shut up, you bloody succubus!" Annah snarled suddenly, attitude changing faster than a weather vane. "Save yer precious sermons fer some meal of yours that cares!" Her angry expression quickly died, back to grief. "He's _gone_. He's dead and he ain't coming back this time." She shook her head. "I was hoping he'd get his happy ever after or somethin'... seemed like he needed it, poor berk."

Grace gazed at Annah's back for a moment, observing the lack of energy in her tail's sweeping movements, as she could not see her face. "Annah," she spoke quietly after a moment, trying not to provoke the girl. Annah said nothing, and so Fall-From-Grace pressed, gently, "He knew it would come to this, and so did you. I know it must be hard for you to accept..."

"Accept?" Annah wheeled around in a flash. "Now let me tell you something, tanar'ri! What reasoning in the planes do you give tha' I hafta _accept_ this! Bad enough trying to wrap me head around the immortal thing, but jus' when I do, he's..." her voice wavered, losing its sharpness for a fraction, "... suddenly in the dead-book. No, I spent way too much of my time protecting that idjit to let him burn in the hells!"

Grace, surprisingly, gave a gracious smile, despite being shown nothing but anger. "Then you propose a rescue?"

"Res- are you_ out of yer mind_?" Annah gave a step back and a suspicious glance. "Yer trying to get me killed, ain't ya? No-one walks into the hells and comes back out!"

"Eh..." The skull, which had been uncharacteristically quiet to this point, clicked his jaw in the way a person who had flesh would say, "ahem". "To be fair, we kinda already made a visit to Avernus once already."

"We had _him_ with us then, Morte. An' he couldn't die. Big bloody difference!"

"Are you wanting to come too, Morte?" Grace asked genially, whilst Annah grit her teeth at being ignored.

Morte's eyed rolled around in his sockets. "Not really. I'm pretty sick of being dragged around the planes by the chief." He paused, and floated over to Grace, wriggling non-existent eyebrows. "I could take orders from _you_ for a bit, though, if you'd be as kind as to share your campbed..."

"Tch!" Annah looked faintly revolted and shot a dirty look at Fall-From-Grace, as though it has been her proposal.

"Very well." Grace smiled wryly, coming to understand Morte's self-defensive humour. "Dak'kon?"

All of them turned around at this. The githzerai had been silent, seemingly in deep contemplation. "...Know that I have done the service to which I was bound. I wish to know freedom again."

"Of course," Grace said warmly. "And you are free, now. But you are an excellent warrior, and have shared much time with him, and us. Your experience would be a valuable contribution." She smiled, even as Dak'kon's face remained cold. "I am asking you, Dak'kon. For the man who enslaved you is not the same man that you travelled with until now. You once owed him your life. What if you could return that?"

"Know I would put no other into slavery. Know that he had already endured." Dak'kon's blade shimmered into bluntness.

"Then will you join us in a search for an ally? He is now your equal, after all." Grace gave a half-bow. "I will respect your decision, Dak'kon. I know you would not want to be chained to us."

Dak'kon remained silent, long enough that it seemed he had no intention to reply. Eventually, his hand drew into his armour and pulled out the Unbroken Circle of Zerthimon, examining it quietly as it sat in his palm. "Know that he intended to unmake me with this," he said with calm anger, "he intended to divide me." He turned it around. "Know he then undid the damage he had wrought. He taught me to know the meaning of Zerthimon's teachings." He turned the disc, clockwise, in his hand. "But he could not create balance of time and suffering." Then, with a fluid motion, he turned it onto its reverse. "The same man, but different voice. These words, his voice gave them different meaning, although the words did not change. I lost the knowing of the words of Zerthimon, and to him I owe that I know them again."

Dak'kon finally looked up and acknowledged the others. "He let me know myself once more. He saved me not once, at Shrak'at'lor, but twice. The second time, he knew he would have to walk into death to save me."

He stepped forward slowly, hesitantly. "Your path... is mine."

"Geez, you could've just said that without the speech." Morte muttered. "I liked you better when you were quiet." Dak'kon calmly ignored him, focussing on Fall-From-Grace.

"Now yer all just wait a piking minute!" Annah fiercely announced, marching into the formed circle. "I ain't letting _her_ get her mitts on him so she can suck his soul out." Annah stared daggers at Grace, although restraining from pulling the physical sort from her vest.

"I have no such intention to." Fall-From-Grace smiled affectionately at Annah, as though she were an unruly younger sister. "Although now you've said so more directly, I can set your mind at ease, Annah: I do not feel about him with the ferocity you possess. I can only remain envious of your passion for him. I have no intentions of getting in the way."

"Direct? Hmph! Only because he announced it to the damned world before he left me!" Annah reacted defensively, but her tone was mollified somewhat, and her tail did not lash so angrily, nor did her eyes blaze. "Us." She added on as an afterthought. "I don't trust yer one bit, Fall-From-Hells. I only suffered you for his sake."

"I don't know what I can possibly do to convince you of my intent, Annah." She shook her head with as much grace as her name. "But let me put it to you this way: have I not, so far, provided healing and guidance? Have I shown any attempt at seducing mortals in our travels?"

"Why should I hafta fathom how yer twisted minds work?" Annah scowled, but her heart wasn't in it. She was clearly stuck for a retort. She looked at Dak'kon and Morte defiantly. "I'll be coming, too. Someone has to watch yer backs."

"Good to hear. Never fear, I'll be watching your front." Morte grinned and somersaulted as Annah glared.

"Don't make me change my mind, damned skull."

"Eh, it's alright. There's things that are sharp in that jerkin other than your tongue." Morte looked a bit hesitant for a moment. "Say, uh... we gonna bring Nordom? I don't think he could cope with free choice. We try telling him to go out there? He'll get stripped and sold for jink in a second of Sigil on his own."

Nordom had stopped moving from the moment his master had left. At hearing its name, it whirred and chugged and its eyes blinked in a series of uneven clicks. "Nordom awaits orders from leader. Query: leader absent. Processing..." Nordom whirred loudly. "Director-in-chief to give order. Please indemnify."

The others looked at each other as to whom should address Nordom.

"I don't want that cogbox following me around. He'd drive me barmy." Annah said decisively. "Eh, Dak'kon, you're pretty stiff. Yeh'd be good with giving orders."

"Know that it is not my will to do that." Dak'kon gazed upon her sternly. He clearly did not appreciate her lack of tact.

"I would take it upon myself," Grace said coolly, "But I understand little on how to deal with an erratic Modron. He is... unusual." She looked thoughtful. "Morte, you're an erratic one at times." She smiled widely. "I think you should do this."

"What, _me_, direct the backwards Modron?" Morte's dropped his jaw for dramatic effect, and he hastily swooped down and clicked it back into place. "Hold on, Grace. You and I might be developing a close relationship, here, but adopting is way too –"

"Director... direct... Nordom backwards modron. Director-in-ch-chief Morte. Awaiting orders from D-director Morte." Nordom clunked over to Morte.

"No! No! Not me, you stupid hunk of junk! The chief, remember? We're going to go find him and then you can follow him around all you want."

"Director-in-CHIEF Morte. Query: Locate director. Processing. Current location: Negative Material Plane." Nordom clicked alarmingly, as though interrupting himself. "Emergency processing. Internal overrides in place."

"How odd," Grace said quietly. "I never knew he could override his internal logic. I wonder if that's a side effect of remaining in Limbo?" She looked to Dak'kon.

"I do not know what Nordom experienced. I know he was in Rubikon Mechanus, sculpted from Limbo." Dak'kon commented.

There was a low rumble and a rush of icy breeze, where no weather had previously existed in the silent Fortress.

"... What was that?"

"... Overrides complete," Nordom chirped happily. "!WARNING! Fortress destabilized. Approximate time to complete destruction: 3 minutes, 52 seconds. Margin of error: 7. Estimated chance of survival: 23. Incrementally decreasing by 2 per 20 seconds."

"What's tha' supposed to mean?" Annah looked nervous.

"The fortress was made of regret. _His_ regret." Morte said quickly. "And seeing as he's dead... I think the place is coming apart."

"We must hurry." Dak'kon voice could cut the air, and it was enough to stop any debate. There was no time to choose a direction or work anything logically. They ran, hurtling down the steps from the roof as quick as they each could.

"By the powers, how're we s'posed to get out of here?" Annah yelled as she skidded nimbly to the bottom. "We don't know where the portal is!" She'd yelled because she wanted to get attention, but it was fortunate she had: the wind's breath had become a roar that drowned out all voice.

"Nordom..." Nordom began rattling off some series of calculations, but as no one had ordered him to shout, the only thing they heard was his name before the wind carried the rest of the words away.

"Shadows!" Morte yelled, gesturing frantically, which was an impressive feat for not possessing limbs. He was right: they all turned heads and the shadows were in a swarm, the wind swirling their tendril-like hair as they shrieked towards them.

"Oh fer..." - Shrieks and wailing - "...sake!" Annah had paled, but seemed angry that the Fortress dare thwart their attempts to escape. Her daggers appeared as if from nowhere. "I'll cut every last one down if we hafta!"

"Annah! Draw back!" Grace yelled, unusually imperative: her voice lost its sweetness in doing so. The urgency expressed was enough for Annah to acknowledge her. "They're not coming _at_ you, move out of their way!"

Annah might have ignored her, but given Morte, Dak'kon and Grace were on the stairs, staying back, and it would've been just her versus a horde of shadows, she jumped swiftly out of harm's way.

They watched, mesmerised, as the hundreds upon hundreds of shadowkin seemed to be _running away_ from something – all in a group, following like soldiers... or lemmings. There was no order, just a mass scurrying forwards, wails and shrieks piercing the howling as the air grew colder and colder.

"They know this place is ending," Grace said quietly, but those next to her understood.

"I know this sounds crazy, but shouldn't we follow them?" Morte announced. "They seem to know the way out."

"That's a very good idea, Morte." Grace replied, looking bright, although it didn't entirely mask her anxiousness.

"Processing... target: shadows, confirmed. Will follow shadows at Directors' command." Nordom clunked over to Morte, who drew away at once from the source of embarrassment.

They began to follow the shadows, which were moving at a fast pace: they had to run to keep up, all caution abandoned as the shades moved faster.

"It's getting colder..." Annah shivered, her vest not affording her much warmth as she wrapped her tail around her leg and rubbed it briskly. Her breath was steam, and even the others suddenly seemed to notice how icy the air had become.

"Keep going," Grace panted, finding her wings a hindrance to running speed. "We haven't much time..." on cue, an ominous rumble followed her pronouncement.

"Portal detected." Nordom announced unnecessarily, as they rounded the corner the shadows had turned.

"... By all the Hells..." Morte whispered as he gaped upward, jaw hanging low. They ran into an immediate stop.

A giant rend into space itself was drawing the shadows forth like a vacuum, absorbing them into the black space belong, and they seemed to be drawn in willingly. It was the source of the chill in the air: ice had formed on the bricks of the fortress closest to this gaping hole into nothingness.

"We must not be here," Dak'kon said suddenly. "We must turn back."

"Dak'kon, what is-"

"Know that it is a tear into the fabric of this plane." Dak'kon's eyes glowed intensely dark. "Know nothing exists that _lives_ on the other side. It is a shredded entrance to the Negative Material plane."

"We don't want to end up there," Grace mused, neatly surmising.

They stared, taking cautious steps back as the ice coated the bricks rapidly, the makeshift portal growing bigger as the shadows clawed their way inside.

"43 seconds to imminent destruction." Nordom announced.

"Oh fer..." Morte spun around to Nordom. "Would you just _shut up_, music-box? Unless you've got any useful information on how to get out of here, then just stow it before I take your crossbows and shove them-"

"Information." Nordom interrupted, whirring suddenly, as though in a state of urgency. "Nordom located portal. Activation key has already been processed. Do you wish to proceed?" He chugged, expression flickering awkwardly. "Y. N?" He shook.

"What? You know the way out? Then tell us!" Morte said impatiently.

"K-k-key is: grandiloquence."

"Yeah, great. In Common, please?" Morte ground his teeth.

"Word is of Common language. Antonymical of "regret"." Nordom looked confused.

"He means "pride"... or something similar." Grace scanned the walls. "Everyone, think of something to be proud of... boast... anything like that."

Grace scoured her memories with a frown. She was feeling rather angry with herself. As a Sensate, she should have had thousands upon thousands of feelings of pride stored inside her; experiences of her own and of sensory stones. She was struggling to find a thing to take pride in. Everything she had done, she had done to deny her own nature, to rebel against the core evil she was born with. Was that really anything to take pride in, when you had made your life a mask?

"... 23 seconds." Nordom said as they quietly, frantically, searched their thoughts.

"At least countdown in sensible increments!" Morte exploded, irritability exposed with imminent death around the corner. "At least _I_ can- oooh. Portal!"

Morte disappeared through a section of wall that seemed to shimmer slightly as he moved through it. Dak'kon followed. Annah seemed to be concentrating so hard she might implode, but soon she vanished through.

Grace captured a moment of pride and the portal was visible to her. She caught sight of Nordom, waiting placidly. "Nordom, think of something!"

"Error." He paused. "15 seconds."

"Nordom!" Grace cried in frustration. "Think of something you're proud of." She realised they didn't have the time. "Think of finding the new Director! Think of being a stronger modron!"

"Acknowledged. Processing. Priority: urgent."

"Hurry!" She urged, just as a huge chunk of the outer Fortress began to split, as though disintegrating at its very core. She hurled herself through the portal, hearing the sound of bricks shattering, smashing as she went...

"It'd be nice if one day, one of these portals actually led to a bar." Morte was saying cheerfully as Grace materialised. "Seriously, I always want a stiff drink afterwards."

No one replied, due to the overwhelming temptation to question as to how Morte would drink anything.

They were standing where they had begun: in the Mortuary, empty slab in front of them, stained with blood, the smell of rotting flesh assaulting their senses. "You know, this'll be my last visit here... I hope," Morte added hastily, though his tone was fond. "Dragging the chief here... ugh."

"Fortress of Regrets is destroyed." Nordom pronounced, a second after coming through the portal, which promptly sealed itself.

There was something like a rippled sigh of relief around the room.

"Well? Let's get out of this dump." Annah declared. She looked to Morte. "An' I'm agreeing with you fer once. Drinks before anything else, aye?"

"_Agreeing with me_? ... Annah, you _know_ I'm already involved with Grace." Morte sighed, as though in regret.

"We'll make plans at the Smouldering Corpse. It's closest." Annah ignored him.

It seemed the adventure was in reverse gear. The irony wasn't lost on them. They'd helped him die. Now they were going to bring him back.

* * *

Yay, I finally got it up! Such a great game needs fanfictional recognition. Next chapter should be next week, with all fortune on my side.  



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